The Current and the Anchor
by VivekaHeat
Summary: A collection of short texts that revolve around Alec's and Magnus's relationship. The stories tell how Alec came alive after he met Magnus and how Magnus found something to hold on to in his endless life. I have no rights to these characters, they belong to Cassandra Clare.
1. The Waking Current

An old black t-shirt – a name of some band, ominously demonish yet completely strange to him – combined with his worn jeans that used to be dark as night but nowadays resembles something between asphalt and concerete. The brown grey sweater he's about to wear on top of the t-shirt is fraying around the cuffs and the neck and when he runs his hands on its surface, he can feel every loose, uneven, fluffy stitch on it. The combat boots of which ankles have hardened into combers and grooves during the hunts in the past are the only shoes that he can even begin to think to wear on a date – all the other pairs look even cruder and if possible, more beaten-up. This is the best he's able to come up with such a short notice and frankly, when he glances at himself in the mirror, he shudders in embarrassment.

He's staring at himself now. Lackluster, bleak eyes under only a little, not expressively, arched eyebrows. A bit overgrown mop of thick dark hair that hangs listlessly on his forehead and curls ever so slightly so that it touches his upper neck and jaw bone. No matter how hard he looks and how he tries to examine his face from different angles, the picture doesn't change. The indiscernible, invisible boy who grew up to be obscure and to other people, unseen. It is as if there's nothing really tangible in him, that the edges of his face and his body keep fading away and he blends into the backstage of everything that ever happens in the surrounding life. He leans nearer the mirror, lays his whole weight on his knuckles right next to the reflection of his pale face and lets out a sigh. He can't blame people for not being able to take notice of him. It has been harder and harder for him too these days.

This feeling isn't really true when he's out there. Not when he's on a mission to look out for Jace and Isabelle. Not when he's fighting back to back with his parabatai or when he's observing from the distance how his little sister bestows her accurate and ruthless strikes on those who choose to violate the agreement they have sworn to uphold. Those are the moments he can feel the violent current waking inside his body, pushing him relentlessly into the next week and the inevitably towards the next adrenaline fix.

The electricity, the current. That is what drew him to that man. He has not felt it before outside a brawl. But now even a thought of those thin, cat-like eyes and the wiry but strong frame is enough to raise an exhilarating wave inside him that moves faster than light from his toes to the tips of his fingers. The most, however, he likes the way the current has finally settled on his chest, centering there and once in a while contracting so that he finds it difficult to draw breath. Not to mention how it felt when the man kissed him.

He brings his finger to his lips and tries to catch that fleeting pressure there. His lips have been bearing a burning seal these last few days and he's afraid the flames he feels on them are finally slowly dying down. Only to be set ablaze again, maybe? He wouldn't know because it was his first kiss, after all. But he would give anything that is his to give to feel those lips and that flames again and that's why he's putting himself out there tonight.

The fear is far worse than what he feels when he faces a demon or a rogue vampire nest with his companions. This fear, he finds, is something he is left completely alone to face. Not because nobody would notice but because he has done all in his might to conceal this; he knows this is wrong. That he is utterly and undeniably wrong and the longing in him is like a stain that at some point will tear him from Isabelle and Max and his parents. And Jace. But nevertheless he's going, because he knows he likes himself better with the man, tainted or not.

He folds one of his unmanageable coils of hair behind his ear and settles for what he sees, since nothing can be done about his appeareance. He suppresses the intense urge to stay inside the safe walls of Institute and grabs his keys and his phone. Without looking back into the room that has been his since his early childhood, Alec shuts the door.


	2. The Confusion

The sun is nearing the horizon, filling his bedroom with brutal, golden light that makes the glitter under his brow bones shine like diamonds. He has been getting ready for an hour now and he likes what he sees in the mirror. Nothing too extravagant, like that day when the boy and his friends came around to crash the party, but still something special. It is a date night, after all. Is he really doing all this for himself, like he has been doing for the last century? Or is there something about the boy that makes him try even harder? He really can't decide.

He laughs and runs his hand languidly over his clean-shaven chin. Wouldn't that be something? Being head over heels for a barely grown-up man who's probably just testing his wings in the gay scene and has a serious case of sadly unrequited love for an adoptive brother. Then why is he feeling so uncertain about the whole thing? He knows that he could take the boy and spend a couple of meaningless, yet heated nights, mess the boy's head properly and afterwards toss the poor thing out without so much as calling a taxi. But the thing is, he would have done it already, if that's what he really wants. He could have pulled the blue-eyed gorgeousness into his bedroom right after that kiss and do all kinds of everything.

However, there is something different in this one. He is beginning to take notice of it, especially now after these incidents. First the actual blonde trouble decided ring his doorbell and made his heart jitter so bad that he thought his final moment had come only to plunge it into dissappointed halt once he realized it wasn't the Shadowhunter with jet-black hair and eyes like a frosty river. That one-time letdown was nothing, nothing compared to the second time. The second one he didn't expect and now he would be willing to put up with any annoying wrong alarm on his threshold if that meant nothing like that would happen again. He received a message about the foolish boy's idiotic adventure moment with the Greater demon and that second the river as cold as the boy's eyes washed through his body, leaving every inch of him stunned for a while. It took close to a spell to uproot his legs from the ground and set him almost flying to the Institute.

He shakes his head, as if the picture of the pallid, fragile boy lying on the bed would fall off of his mind just like that. The genuine worry and relentless will to do everything in his power to fix things. He has not felt such emotions in a very long time. And to be frank, he doesn't know whether that's good for him. If the mere sight of the boy covered in blood could submerge him into such despair and if the kiss from those lips could transfix him so that he found it difficult to breathe, their thing, no matter how brief or long, could only devastate him in the end.

But there is the other side of it too. Having lived 800 years, the time has stopped for him. It is as if everytime he blinks the days move forward faster than he is able to process, like he is stuck standing in the middle of everything while all the world passes right before his eyes. The vertiginous pace that is only divided by lavish parties and some interesting gigs is wearing him down and the last decade he has done his best to hold onto something, anything really. Before, the only thing that he had been able to grasp in all the chaos were his memories of a life already lived . Surprisingly, he has not felt the vertigo lately, not after the boy stumbled into his life. Now everything is, not slow, but steady and touchable and he is able see beyond his endless past to the present and even at times catch a glimpse of the days to come. There's a clear focus in his days and the power of it makes him dread the time the focus shifts its angle or disappears altogether.

Chairman Meow nudges his hand, as if the cat senses his confusion and frustration. The clock is ticking and soon he has to decide what kind of game he is willing to play and how far he wants to go with the innocent creature. The boy who held onto his wrist through one hellish night and looked deep into his eyes feverishly and pleading, as if the boy too had seen the frightening stream of life passing right by, despite the young years. The boy who had gathered all his courage, no matter how unwavering it was when facing demons and monsters of other worlds, to ask him out. The boy who confessed to having never been kissed before, only to crash those inexperienced lips against his with a desire and lust that found their match only in him.

He glances out the window and sees a tall, dark figure stalking insecurily towards his front door – his skipping heart crumbles his resolution to stay calm. He puts his golden jacket on, mind deep in thought and fondly pets the cat who has come to the apartment's door to see him out and make sure he doesn't have second thoughts. Cheeky cat. Magnus inhales, enjoying the serene rhythm of life that encompasses him when he sets out to meet Alexander Lightwood.


	3. The Game

Alec stares into his hands that rest on both sides of his plate. He has been very quiet all night, even though he promised himself that he would try to seem social and interested in the man sitting opposite him. He is. Interested in Magnus, that is. He just doesn't know how to show it and now he is seriously concerned that the High Warlock considers him entirely boring and bored. Coming up with things to say or ask is taking more of his capacity than he thought and brain-racking just isn't helping – the words don't come out of his mouth . He would love to know more, since everything Magnus chooses to reveal about himself is fascinating; things he has seen, places he has been to. Even the things the Warlock loves are intriguing and new to Alec. But despite Magnus's prompting, supportive questions, he finds himself unable to come up with anything absorbing to tell about himself as a person or keeping up the conversation with his own questions. His palms are sweating.

The restaurant Magnus picked – he himself doesn't have an opinion about any other restaurant than Taki's – is on the other side of New York. The food is good, but honestly Alec doesn't even stop to taste it since he finds observing Magnus too pleasurable to concentrate on the worldly things around him. Magnus is obviously very easily delighted about many things and everytime he finds something particularly enjoyable, he bents his head back and lets out a loud, insolent peal of laughter. The laughter is like a force of nature, a hurricane or the scorching midday sun: terribly beautiful and utterly devastating. Or at least it is to Alec, who is becoming distressingly aware of his own gloomy, quiet disposition. At times he feels the corner of his mouth crooking up, but he dares not laugh in case it's the wrong timing.

Even the way they dress seems to contrast the vast gap between their characters. It was one of the things Magnus found extremely hilarious when they had met in front of his apartment earlier this night.

_Alec stares intently at the door of the apartment and keeps his hands dug deep inside his sweater pockets. They were already stretched beyond any shape as he always needs something to support his hands when he's nervous – an old habit and in battle he has his weapon to hold on to hard, but this is not a battlefield. This time hiding his hands doesn't settle his edginess. He hasn't heard from the High Warlock after they exchanged one message about the details of their date a couple of nights back: just one message between this moment and the kiss. _

_To be honest, he is a bit confused. Does one kiss mean that they are on a greeting kiss basis? Is he allowed to kiss Magnus now or was the Warlock trying him on to see if the shoe fits? He wishes he would have had the nerves to send the man a message back, telling the man how much the kiss had meant for him and how he can't shake it off, not even days later. He can still feel it and he finds himself wanting more but knows already that he will be too afraid to ask for it in case their thing won't work out so well today. _

_Alec resurfaces from his thoughts when the door opens and Magnus backs out shoving the keys into his jacket pocket – a jacket covered with so many golden sequins that it's only Christmas lights away from being the most glowing thing Alec has ever laid his eyes on. He's still not facing Alec and while he check s that the door slammed shut properly he mutters under his breath about "the damn cat" and "never letting the beast near his make up again". Alec isn't sure whether to be amused or intimidated; seeing the Warlock with ruffled feathers (thank the Angel, he's not really wearing any) is somehow adorable to him, but then again he already acknowledges his painful insecurity without being challenged by a surly Magnus. _

_Then the Warlock turns around and even before Alec's heart has the time to skip the crucial badam, Magnus bursts out laughing. _

"_Oh Alexander, always dressed up as dark as the night."_

_At that Alec feels his temper rising. He wants to spew out his exasparation, even though he's not good at coming up with something snarky . The man, however, is faster. Magnus takes effortless, light steps towards him and closes the distance between them. Now he's so close that Alec can feel his breath on his own lips and see the greenish crowns surrounding the pitch black irises._

"_That is very convenient since I decided to go with the star theme today."_

_Alec swallows hard and just nods as a reply. Magnus smiles ruefully and then just backs away and starts walking . The Warlock's pink sequini sneakers shimmer in the evening light as the soles hit the ground gracefully. He glances over his shoulder with bright eyes. _

"_The game's afoot, gorgeous Alexander."_

"Alexander?"

Alec startles upon hearing his own name. He can't fathom why Magnus chooses to call him by his whole name, pretentious and ostentatious as it is. In fact, there are many things he doesn't understand about his date. One of the major conundrums is the way the man irritates him to pieces and yet he can't help forgiving Magnus. And that is a lot said about him, as forgiving has never been his thing. Nonetheless the anger the man sends flowing through his veins feels almost identical to the heat he felt when Magnus fed his desire by kissing his neck that night. It is as if the man tries to coax his emotions to the surface, to test his whole repertoire.

"I prefer Alec", he says quietly but looking straight into the cat eyes staring at him. There's something impish tremoring in them and he's not sure whether he wants to hear what it is.

"I prefer Alexander. It's long and feels nice on my tongue." There it is. The comeback that was already dancing on Magnus's tongue and visible in his eyes. Usually Alec blushes leisurely yet determinately: this innuendo causes a immediate surge of hot blood to his cheeks. He buries his face in his hands and tries to block out whatever mental images might be evoked by the reply; images that would cause blood rushing to other places too. He hears a warm laughter erupting on the other side of the table.

"No, I really like it. Almost as much as I like the way such a seemingly calm and bashful boy can express an endless assortment of exquisite feelings. I wonder if all the other people ever realize how interminably fascinating and enchanting you really are." With that, Magnus turns around to talk to the waitress and leaves Alec staring at the man's profile with a complete bafflement. His head swims in euphoria brought about by the unexpected, tender words - Magnus Bane finds him enchanting? The Shadowhunter is too stunned to even care about the flush on his cheeks and out of an unthinking fancy slides his hand over the table to brush Magnus's fingertips lightly. The corner of the Warlock's mouth curves subtly upwards and eyes light up softly while he continues talking with the waitress unaffectedly and gives her his credit card with his free hand.

They get up and Magnus grabs their bottle of Littorai Thieriot. On their way out, Alec notices the unused wine glasses hanging by the stems in the man's other hand and he shakes his head. Naturally dimensions has very little meaning to people who are able to create portals but he just can't get used to the ease with which Magnus summons objects out of thin air. The man turns around to face him, as if he senses Alec's abashed thoughts, and raises the winebottle. The setting sun pushes streaks of light onto the street and for a moment Magnus shines like a thousand stars in his sequined jacket and pink shoes.

"Where to, then, Alexander? The night is young."


	4. The Lights That Shine Brightly

Alec doesn't know how they actually ended up wherever they are. Bright and colourful paper lanterns float above him and if he squints his eyes enough he can see the endless network of black wires that hold up the red, orange, green and yellow dots in place. The lights shine so bright, so bright he feels them on his skin, making him glow too in the dimming evening. Everywhere around him there are people dancing to a song he doesn't know (why would he? He never knows these things) but has grown to love in only a few minutes. It is as if the lights pulse in tune with the music, making him feel even more weightless.

This wasn't the plan, this wasn't the plan, this wasn't the plan. Being this drunk is far worse than a bad thing, he knows, but the details as to why it is a such a bad idea keep getting fuzzier and fuzzier as he dances and downs shots. And glances at the man he has been holding onto for the last 60 minutes like he is the last thing keeping him earthbound. Magnus, who is visibly less drunk than he is, is nevertheless enjoying himself tremendously. He seems to know the songs, as he starts immediately dancing to them when the first notes fly into the air. Beautiful, beautiful Magnus, who almost sometimes blends into all the lovely lights around them but is brought back to Alec's exact sight when he glides his hands along the Shadowhunter's waist.

"I think I want another one of those things we just had a moment ago", Alec mumbles almost inaudibly. There's very little distance between him and the High Warlock and it seems that talking loudly has become unnecessary for the two of them. He wishes it was like that all the time; quiet and soft, enough room for him to breathe. Enough room for him to say things that sometimes beguile his mind and leave him standing twenty paces apart from everyone else. Enough room and silence to be heard without screaming out. But this space is good and this rhythm is real; this he can hold onto and enjoy its flow.

"I think we've had enough, Alexander. You even more than me, which to my own surprise I admit", Magnus states gently against his cheek and chuckles slightly, which to Alec sounds like low purring. The purr makes him smile and lean his cheek firmly against the man's hot mouth. The moist heat on his skin sends the familiar current running in every fiber of his being and make him hum out excitedly.

"But if it's more drunk you want to get, I warmly recommend tasting my lips. Haply some poison yet doth hang on them?" Magnus adds with a bold and suggestive grin. The Shadowhunter bursts out in a tumultous laughter. This is too much even for him, but with a proud, fleeting mental note he congratulates himself for knowing his Shakespeare well enough to recognize the line.

"You're so full of shit, you know?" He says, but without so much as a blink of an eye kisses Magnus roughly. This the first kiss since he decided to have the final say by the Warlock's door and he can't help wondering how he has been able to live these couple of days without kissing. It's like a burning fever that instead of weakening him makes him stronger and braver and feel so invincible that he could take down any demon that would cross their path today. And now there seems to be an edge there that wasn't during the first kiss. It clears his mind so that he can't focus on such trivial things like kissing the right way, but concentrate only on the desperate manner with which Magnus thrusts his tongue against his own. Yet the edge is also like a blade that slides flat against his skin and whether it sinks into his skin is still something undecided but inevitable. It makes him too sober to forget to think about many things while they're together, even when Magnus pushes fingers into his hair and leans something hard against his hips. A blade, he manages to think when the hot hardness grinds against him. A blade. _Jace_.

He pulls away from their kiss and gasps for breath. He's gripping tightly Magnus's elbows, to hold him there, though there's nothing he wants more than to back off. How did this happen? His hands are shaking and his eyes downcast. The grass is moving beneath his feet and it's only making the lights and the rest of the world revolve around him faster. It's not making him sick but feel so utterly out of control, so lost that he lets out an audible sob.

"Tough landing?" Magnus asks and Alec dimly notices in the corner of his eye how the man sets down the drink that he has been holding in his hand while they were dancing. The fingers return to caress his scalp but now he can't help noticing how tender they are. The newly freed hand tentatively pulls him closer to the shoulder, onto which he gratefully rests his head. He doesn't want to explain anything because even he can't begin to work out what happened just then; that's why he keeps a small, yet significant distance between his and Magnus's body.

The music is slowing down and they stand together there in the middle of a late night's party. Alec raises his head to take a look at Magnus's face: if the older man feels even a tiniest bit insulted by his sudden retreat back into his shell he doesn't show it. In fact, the Warlock looks down into his eyes with an intent, focused gaze, as if he's a thin layer of ice that might cave away beneath the sparkly pink shoes any time now.

He thoughts are blurry, but what he is very acutely aware of is how sorry he's for not continuing the kiss and the hot swinging of their bodies. That's what he wanted, wasn't it? What was the impulsive sensation of guilt and shame he felt when his thoughts crossed Jace? All that will never happen, whereas this – the garden, the music, the kisses, the grind – they are very real and tangible. The fingers that trace the line of his jet black hair are real, as is the soft, affectionate hand on his upper waist. He almost feels invaluable and loved right there in Magnus's arms, but nonetheless he breaks away without looking up. The lights are shining too brightly around him as the blissful high starts fading, leaving his feet too heavy on the ground.

"I should probably go home."


	5. The Fearful Moment

**Thank you so much for your reviews and advice for improvement! They mean a lot to me! If you wonder why this story is rated M, that's because of some later chapter and their sexual contents. ****  
**

**The songlist for this chapter:**

**Anouk - Lost**

**Mikky Ekko - Pull Me Down**

**The Crash - Sugared**

The thunder of the subway rails rouses Magnus back from the fuzzy, yet happy thoughts – thoughts that with a critical annotation could be categorized as quite drunk. Not quite hooched up, but very, very euphoric and irresponsible. To be honest, he didn't mind irresponsible per se, but somehow proving himself to be one of the most sinful and corrupted flirts that East Coast has ever seen was not his plan A for the first date night. Especially with the ever so timid and wary Nephilim that was now sitting next to him and leaning that gorgeous, inebriate head on his shoulder. Well, dilly-dally shilly-shally, what's done is done – at least the boy got a taste of what he is like during his most exuberant moods.

The subway car teeters a bit when the train clangs to a tight curve. Magnus glances down at the boy: Alec is staring out of the window past his chest, but the tired blue eyes barely see anything but the occasional flashes of the subway lights that reflect onto the dirty, tagged glass only to disappear into the darkness again. He kisses the feverish forehead beneath the black tousle of hair and breathes in the salty, stunning scent of sweat emanating from the weary body of the young Shadowhunter. This sweat is, honest to anyone willing to listen, enduced by their almost innocent dancing and swaying to the music, but all Magnus can smell is sex. Not the kind of sex he thought he wanted to end the night with: the cushy, fast type of copulation that he was considering before their date is now a long gone thought. What he now wants is to claim Alec as his own, rub himself all over that ripped body so that his scent would catch and every single creature in the radius of ten kilometres would know the Nephilim belongs to him.

"Magnus". The quiet whisper of his name chases the guilty fantasy away. Jesus Christ Superstar, anymore of those thoughts and he'll be fighting a boner sized of a Chrysler building when they arrive at the right station. Instead he steers his attention to the exhausted boy next to him.

"Tell me." he answers with a hushed voice and hopes not to awake Alec from his gentle state of reverie.

"Whose party did we crash anyways?" the boy asks, sounding almost careless. Magnus chuckles softly and kisses the forehead once again. He doesn't usually do magic just for the spite of it or to show off to anyone, but tonight he has been exceptionally buzzed. He didn't want to brag, not in all the technicality, but was hellbent to show Alec seriously good time, to stir and bring forth some of those surprisingly tumultuous feelings of the bashful boy. No harm done, really, even though the magick didn't serve any higher – or monetary – purpose of whatsoever. And it had been a success. For over an hour they held each other and did whatever passes for dancing nowadays, Alec slowly forgetting his scowl and gradually embracing the languid bliss of swaying to a good song under a hundred vivid lanterns shining in the night.

"It was just some party, I didn't know who the hostess was. She on the other hand thought we were some of her long lost friends. That's why she looked as happy as a zonked hippo when she saw us climb over her picket fence." On hearing this Alec straightens his back and tries to sober up enough to calculate in his head how the poor girl could've mistake them for whoever she was mistaking them to be – with very few realistic results. Magnus strokes Alec's damp, long bangs aside and gives a wry smile as he almost sees all the way through the Shadowhunters skull to the wild guesses that the boy drunkenly entertains.

"Relax. I glamoured us, not her", he explains. "What she felt was real when she saw us, of course with a hint of befuddlement as she couldn't think of a reason how on Earth her friends could've been there but in the end couldn't care to ask that. That's how well intoxication, of course someone else's than the warlock's, goes together with magick." As he adds the final sentence, Magnus notices himself wishing silently that the Nephilim doesn't consider his trick too grave an offense against the Law.

Alec's brows are furrowed, but he sinks back against the subway seat, either in resignation or fatigue. Magnus can't tell which it is and so keeps his cat eyes fixed on the boy while maintaining a safe distance in case the Shadowhunter decides to – what, to pull something out from the top 10 list of the most gruesome torture devices of the Medieval times? He knows he's not afraid of the boy, a Shadowhunter or not, since there has been very few concrete things he has been afraid of during the last five hundred years. It were usually the non-corporeal matters like the magick of others that could harm him in any way. The creeping fear that he feels is something completely distinct from his will to survive enemies. While Magnus tries scrutinise carefully Alec's beautiful face to put his finger on what is so different about this situation compared to all those he has experienced, he already knows he has never felt so desperate to have someone as his lover.

Alec turns to look back at him drowsily. "Does it always feel this horrible?" he asks quietly.

Magnus gives his best poker face to come across as composed and amused, even though on the inside his heart is sinking. Not to be conceited, at least anymore than he usually is, the date to him has been going great, even despite both of them being more or less very drunk. Half an hour ago the boy was enjoying himself, tossing his arms around him and answering every sway of his body.

"Well, usually dates with a High Warlock end with a bold musical number with flying carpets, monkeys turned into elephants and unicorns that vomit rainbows. I just kinda postponed all that amazingness till the next date, since you're probably not up for those rainbows yet", Magnus says and mentally kicks himself in the liver for actually sounding quite hurt. What happened to his self-control?

Alec, however, doesn't seem to notice the hurt but looks rather perplexed at the contents of his snarky comment. The boy stares at him, those gorgeous blue eyes almost as large as sauce pans and with his head tilted a bit to the side, as if Magnus has just then grown a glittery horn on his forehead. His lips spell silently something that the Warlock interprets as "unicorns vomiting rainbows".

"I meant drinking, not the date. The date has been..." and without even finishing the sentence, Alec blushes beyond red. Oh for goodness fucking sake, the boy is sobering up, as Magnus has not seen that raging tint on his face in a good two hours. And then it hits him. The young Shadowhunter just asked whether drinking always involves the abominable splashdown.

"Alexander, please tell me you have been drunk before". This is bad. Really, utterly, gloriously bad. He knows the answer before the boy's brain works out the question and opens his mouth.

"No, I haven't". Alec looks warily at him, his whole body tense.

Unfuckingbelievable. Magnus slams himself down next to him and throws hands up in irritation. "In how many ways exactly are you a virgin? No wait, don't tell me, I might get new, idiotic ideas about how this date should end." He doesn't really mind all these first times, in fact with Alec he finds them endearing and refreshing, but he would like to be informed about them. It kind of makes sense now, the heady speed with which Alec got more drunk than he has ever bled. How do the Shadowhunters spend their days? Probably by playing Cluedo, Magnus guesses, if this untouched, innocent young man was anything to go by.

They sit in silence, Alec tentatively resting his head again between Magnus's shoulder and bent head. Their hands are on Magnus's lap, interlaced and his thumb gently stroking the back of the boy's hand, and he sees how the old lady sitting in the same car three or four seat rows further eyes them angrily, only turning back around when he raises his gaze up to meet hers. Alec doesn't seem to notice the dual of ugly stares and he's grateful for that. Something tells him that the boy would take bigots like the hag quite seriously or at least as a symbol of what would await him if the word of his sexuality reached other Nephilim. Magnus knows their ways, he's not stupid and wasn't born yestercentury: being gay in the Shadowhunting world means to be subjected to the neverending derision and spiteful disrespect, and at worst, the complete lack of trust that made the very foundation of the hunting culture. He does not want that for Alec, for sweet faced and innocent Alec, who has never been drunk before this night or been kissed before he did, and yet he can't help feeling frustrated about the way they are sneaking around.

The train arrives by the platform. They are now two stations away from the Institute, just like they agreed upon earlier. As they get up, Magnus looks Alec in the eyes sternly, as if to say that all this grand evasion is completely pointless and they should go on and that he would give anything to walk him all the way home. But he doesn't say any of these things and only follows the boy out of the train, only to turn around one last time to shoot an impudent look at the old woman.

Alec walks slowly towards the entrance stairs without so much as glancing behind, but his grip on Magnus's hand is strong and secure. For a first time drinker, the boy's gait is admirably steady and Magnus ponders whether they have a separate rune for staying on one's own feet after a bottle of white wine, two shots of tequila and a jello. Now that he's walking behind the boy, he takes the time to carefully scan through the whole body he has been so close to the whole evening and silently chastises himself for ever considering black jeans boring. The particular pair in front of him hugs Alec's small ass quite snugly. This sight is only topped by the brawny arms that are no doubt a result of an everyday training. What he would give to see Alec doing push-ups in his bedroom...

They reach the stairs, the drizzle reaches a couple of the lowest steps. He doesn't give the boy any time to think about the next move, when he pulls him against his lips. Alec is taken by surprise but leans towards the wall next to the stairs as Magnus pushes closer to him. His lips still taste tangy after those tequilas, but there's something beyond the alcohol, something intoxicating that Magnus already took note of during their first kiss. He parts the boy's lips with his own and sighs against Alec's mouth as their tongues graze lightly. Those gentle brushes send signals all over his body, daring him to press harder against the Shadowhunter and to test the boundaries of their bodies.

As quickly as he began it, Magnus pulls away. The boy makes a protesting sound, which fills Magnus's chest with warm, heavy liquid that settles on his heart. He kisses Alec on the forehead while holding on to the nape of his neck and the boy slides hands on his chest as a response.

"Can I see you again?" Alec inquires cautiously and looks away towards the drizzle is turning into proper rain and the light from the street lamps reflect in the deep blue eyes, making the boy look even softer and more fragile than he probably is. A Shadowhunter's life revolves around the constant defiance of death and upbeat dance against pain; Magnus knows this and thus mistaking Alec to be any way weak would be a dangerous misconception. Nevertheless there's something in the boy that cries for protection and something that almost involuntarily makes him raise his hand and run it along the smooth, shaven cheek and jawline, brushing off rogue glitter as he goes.

He presses one brief kiss on those smooth lips. "I'll call you. Maybe we'll manage to stay sober next time. When you go home, drink water – a lot – and eat something greasy." Magnus wants to apologize for getting the Shadowhunter drunk, for breaking every conventional dating rule, for being so exuberant, but the words don't come out. After all, it has been centuries since he has been sorry for being who he is or even admitting that to anyone: he's not really sorry even now, but he's so eager to make Alec comfortable, to draw the boy near and not scare him away. But then Alec smiles, almost soberly, a splendid smile that makes his skin shiver and forgives whatever he might feel unsure about them.

Then Alec nods shyly and starts walking towards the street lights and everything around Magnus stands still for those seconds. When the boy disappears from his sight, there's a bitter sense of loss, a loss of balance that he has been savouring these hours. Then the particles of time that has been countable the whole evening, seconds, minutes, hours, speed up again and start accelarating faster than he has ever experienced before. This is the fear, he understands, the fear that trapped him for a fleeting while before and which he could not recognize. Having Alec as centre of the gravity for a moment and then being forced to let go, sending him spinning uncontrollably through the days. Ultimately he will be, after all, compelled to leave Alec, either when the death finally stops for the boy, or even sooner, when the boy realizes to be more in love with his parabatai than him.

Magnus turns around to face the subway tunnels, lifts the collar of his shiny jacket and walks into the portal he made in the darkness. At least as an immortal, all tomorrows come faster and he'll see Alexander again.


End file.
